


Disembark

by whimsicaltrain



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2018-12-22 09:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11964984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicaltrain/pseuds/whimsicaltrain
Summary: What's one more kill mark when you're overrun already? Clarke steps from the ledge of her clan and into the abyss of him. Rated for later chapters.





	1. From the Ashes

When she had been younger – physically, mentally, emotionally – she would have responded to this situation quite differently. She might have fought back. But now she felt old and beyond ability to change anything. All her hopes were smashed, all she had left was the tattered remains of her bitterness, and the lies that put her in this position.

The guards did not speak to her. They didn’t even look at her. She didn’t know how long she had been down here, but she knew that no one who cared was listening. Her request to speak to the King had been ignored. She sat in her cell and rotted. This persisted for hours. Her head ached, her stomach was empty and knotted up. Her mouth tasted like ash.

When she had woken she had taken stock of the brig they’d put her in. It was fairly simple, no tech involved- none of her own people had helped. The bars were of course impassable, thick and solid as the gunk in her mouth. How long since she had drunk anything? The spaces between narrow, and the lock mechanism was an old-fashioned piece. If her arms could fit through the bars she might have a hope at picking it, but her wrists would stop any progress, and the lock was centered in a panel at least 6 inches on either side, top and bottom. There was a pitcher of water in the corner, and a small, plain metal cup. A crust of bread had sat there so long it had gone stale.

The doors clanged and when they opened an Azgeda soldier stepped through and groused out orders Clarke didn’t quite understand.

“Tai Wanheda op, jak em op shish Haihefa.”

Wanheda. So, she was still in charge of life and death, at least symbolically. She certainly felt in charge of the death of her people. She forced herself to stand, her bones creaking and protesting, but held her hands out before her when she realized they intended to bind her. She wasn’t dangerous anymore, not even remotely, but she supposed that Roan wouldn’t be taking chances. And clearly he was still in charge.

She fought the urge to vomit and cry when they tightened the bonds painfully and began to drag her out of her cell. She had been such a fool.

_“Roan!”_

_His sword had come up and their guns landed on him. Her friend was going to die because “the adults” had made decisions that they hadn’t shared with her until they thought she could do nothing else. But no one had guessed the Ice Nation would swoop in and save the king. And then in the tunnels when he had asked her to be the strength of her people and the voice of reason she had been powerless to do so. She had tried to convince them but Indra wouldn’t have it._

_She had considered, for a moment, killing Indra. Trikru was weakened and Indra’s second was not around to argue the finer points._

_She had gone to Roan after and discussed what she felt were the options to save everyone._

_“With no Commander, they won’t listen. And Wanheda was powerless. The only one who is challenging you is Trikru… why does it have to be total war? Why can’t we… solo gunplei? If you challenge her you might win. And we can ensure that you do. You’d be able to overpower her people and take the bunker, let in who you want. We can still save more.”_

_He was turning a knife over and over in the fire, seemingly lost in thought. They were alone and she was suggesting dishonor and underhanded tactics but at this point she had willingly experimented on a human being. She had irradiated hundreds of Mounon. She had burned hundreds of Grounders. She was renown not for her honor, or for her transparent politics, but for murder. What was one more in the face of Praimfaya and the needless loss of human life?_

_“I made a list. 100 of my people. I have it in the bunker. My people have been chosen. You can choose which of them you’d keep and which you wouldn’t have… not all of them betrayed you. I didn’t betray you.”_

_The knife was glowing now, hot as coals and ready to cauterize, but what wound? Their hearts and trusts broken wouldn’t be touched by any cautery meant for them; the betrayal and lies had gone so deep, and he only knew the surface. She had considered, for a moment, taking the Flame as a Commander. If she did, she could overpower Indra and Roan both. But when she tried to do things alone it always backfired. Maybe she needed help. And Roan had been the most willing to see things not in black and white but in the bright colors of blood and sacrifices necessary to save humanity._

_“Challenge Indra. Please, please take more. You know you can’t operate the bunker without Skaikru. You have a list of the most useful of us, you can take who you want and… I know Azgeda is a large tribe, but, what about the children of the other krus? On the Ark… we struggled to maintain a clean gene pool. You struggle with mutants here too… The more genetically different people you have to choose from, when the bunker opens, the less risk of that in the future.”_

_She stepped closer to Roan now, trying to reach him. A tentative hand found his forearm, and she fought the urge to shiver._

_“I made you a promise. I called you my friend. And I never turned on you. I always wanted to share. I am willing to do whatever it takes, so please just tell me.”_

_“Wanheda, willing to choose who lives and dies, to slay thousands to spare a few of her own…”_

_“No, you told me to rise above my clan. I did. I am asking the same of you now!”_

_He spun so fast on her that she felt the wind of him rushing towards her, but he stopped mere inches from her, glowering at her, leaning over her and rumbling in his chest like a bear. He leaned so close that no one else listening would be able to hear, his breath tickling her ear. She could smell the sweat, dirt, and blood of the day on him, and she gave up fighting the shivers._

_“You keep asking me what you need to do, but you already know. What were your people going to do?”_

_“They were going to take you into custody and bring you into the bunker. I disagreed. Is that what it would take for you to allow others in?”_

_“You make arguments for other clans, but yours is the only one I can see actually needing.”_

_“Please.”_

_He did not answer her but pulled out a knife and held out his hand, palm up with the back of his hand touching her chest. It wasn’t sexual, but he clearly wanted something from her. Her own hand came to meet it, uncertain. His iron grasp had her turned and he sliced into her palm before she could blink. His breath was on the back of her neck now, his jaw moving against her scalp, his arms tight around her shoulders and waist. He still held her wrist in his iron grip._

_“Swear fealty and loyalty to me, swear to become a servant of Azgeda, and swear that you will cut all obligations to Skaikru, Trikru, any other clan. Swear it now.”_

_Forget her people? If it saved them, she could leave them. And for the others? What he said was true. He didn’t need anyone but Azgeda and Skaikru. She thought of all of the children and young women in Trikru, proud and strong people who could contribute a lot to the effort. Some of whom might temper the ferocity of Azgeda._

_“You’ll take some of them in?”_

_He shook her roughly and she cried out._

_“I swear! I swear fealty, and loyalty… I will become a servant to you and your people, and I will cut all ties to any other clan.”_

_“Swear to me that you will not protest any of my decisions as your king, and that you will subject yourself to all of our laws and ways, and that you will not dishonor us as you have dishonored your last clan.”_

_“I swear… please, I swear just please take some of the others in. We need each other more than we know, and once they’re gone we can never get them back…”_

_The angle at which her held her wrist had turned her hand numb, and her knees were weak and shaky. The black of her new blood was dripping down both of their arms, and she began to feel herself sinking to her knees. He continued to tower over her and followed her slow descent. She was crying now out of desperation, fear and pain, knowing the losses that they were all about to take._

_“And tell your king, Wanheda, what you can do to serve him and your clan now…”_

_She was now fully on her knees before him, and knew that she had no choice but to do as she was told. His grip was no less despite the awkward angle at which she was forced to kneel in front of him, while his grip slid from her waist to her shoulders, his hand sliding around to her jaw and throat. Her hand was white now, all the blood gone out of it._

_“I’d kill Indra… and take the temple with an ally of ours disguised as an ally of theirs… once you have it and have the people you will take, seal it…”_

_He released her and she slumped, palms open to the sky on her thighs. She was still bleeding but it was beginning to clot. In the back of her mind, the logical and scientific part of her noted that the removal of the anti-clotting element had done nothing – she just bled differently now._

_“You will be my sword, Wanheda. You will kill Indra, you will take the bunker, and you will close the bunker doors once I determine that everyone we need is inside.”_

_He knew it must kill her to do this again. Despite the moniker she had earned, she hated killing and death, needless evils – but this wasn’t needless, was it? No, this had been her last-ditch effort. Now she could only trust him. He had always been trustworthy before but now his rage tainted his vision and he only saw what he wanted to. Her friend was gone. She had a king now._

_His own hand came down before her, sliced just as hers was. Another offer to bind them in blood. The words tumbled from her mouth, and she didn’t even hear his response. He left the room, the dagger in the fire the only thing left of his furious decree._

_She stood, and pulling it from the fire with her bloodied hand, set about her king’s request. She would have to get in, and once there she would have to eliminate an old ally, someone who had been a friend of sorts._

She had gassed them – Roan had given her 24 hours and in that time, while preparing the bunker for Trikru and Skaikru, she had found the gas masks. The gas was the same as the Mountain Men had used on her and her friends. It would be quick. She had strategically placed her props where they were needed, and she had started in the control room. She had sealed it once emptied and left the controls scrambled up and pulled out: they could fix it later. Even she could do that, Raven had taught her. She had of course taken the same precautions with the room where she’d found the gas and weapons.

She did not kill anyone, only disabled them and removed their guns.

Once everyone was down she had only to open the door. Roan strode through, Echo hot on his heels as usual. Indra was collapsed near the entrance and Clarke waited with her there, Roan’s knife in hand. It weighed a thousand tons and she tried to focus on that alone as she lowered herself into a kneeling position and gently took Indra’s jaw in hand. She did not think back on their meetings, their planning to save Skaikru and then Polis and then the world. She didn’t think about how her people would think of her after this. The echo of Jasper’s hatred towards her was only the beginning, she knew.

As she slid the blade across Indra’s scarred skin, she tried to hide the last of her tears – Azgeda’s king and soldiers could see and weakness in this moment wouldn’t do. She didn’t remember anything after that. Azgeda must have taken her out at that point, and she was surprised to have woken up at all.


	2. The New Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't have to save face if you did your butcher's work in the dark, but Roan does need to take hold of his knife after the killing is over.

She was taken up a lift, through halls, narrow access points, and finally stood before Roan and his ring of war chiefs both great and small in degrees of importance in the control room. His eyes were trained on hers, neither of them looking anywhere else. His mouth was set in a thin line and he was silent for a minute. When he did speak it was in his king voice, the tone that left no room for argument. She didn’t hear the threatening man who had rendered her to nothing but a mess of tears and alien will earlier.

 

_Don’t lie: it wasn’t alien. It was all your idea. You just managed to convince him that it was his so you could spare as many as possible. I wonder how many he did choose to spare, and who._

 

“Wanheda – to whom do you claim loyalty?”

 

So it was a show of dogs then, pissing in victory on the spoils. His bunker. His tool. His Wanheda.

 

“King Roan kom Azgeda.”

 

“And to what end did you act here today?”

 

It had only been the one day then? She was confused for a moment, knowing he wanted her to profess to everyone that she was no longer Skaikru but Azgeda now, but she wasn’t sure why he would ask her what her goal was. Wasn’t it obvious?

 

_Our deal was a shadow deal, like when he had Octavia acting as his little assassin. That’s what I am now, too._

 

She swallowed the lump that rose in her dry throat and spoke again. Before she could though, Roan began again, standing and pacing around her like a cat stalking his prey.

 

“Wanheda’s powers have been sought by the Commander Lexa, by the late Queen Nia of the Ice Nation, and now she has survived Praimfaya, in our bunker. She has two choices: declare herself for Azgeda, and bind herself to our clan in every way possible, or declare herself separate from any clan be subject to a vote of the war council and be willing to accept the verdict that she may or may not remain in the safety of this bunker with us.”

 

There was a murmur of agreement all around, and she began to take stock. Most of the people in the room were Azgeda but there were some who were clearly unhappy about being here, eyes downcast and obviously of no standing. Some glanced at her with hatred, some with fear, and some with something akin to relief. So he had saved others. She wondered why, as he had appeared to only consider Azgeda and Skaikru necessary when they last spoke.

 

“All of you have sworn the same: to either join us as Azgeda, and renounce all former clan ties… or else face Praimfaya.”

 

Oh.

 

“What say you, Wanheda? Will you remain the Commander of Death or will you join Azgeda in whatever position I deem fit and useful?”

 

He stopped in front of her, his blue eyes cold and empty, waiting for her to respond. She had already acted in the capacity of an Ice Nation assassin, but because it had been a privately struck deal no one else would know if she didn’t announce it here again. She thought killing Indra had proven it. And she didn’t see any Skaikru in the room.

 

She kneeled, and considered her next words very carefully. He had used Octavia to preserve his own honor. He had used her to do the same, so she couldn’t reveal anything she had promised before… as having been promised already. He called her by her title, and so he must want her to do it in such a way that she preserved her own mystical power over the people who did believe in magic and titles, of great power that could be assumed by killing your powerful enemies.

 

“I swear fealty and loyalty to this clan, Azgeda, and to the king… I swear to cut all ties and binds to any other clan, and renege all former allegiances.”

 

She couldn’t remember what he had asked of her before, but she hoped this covered it. When he pulled his knife from his belt – the same one she had used to kill Indra, she saw – and slit his palm again, she noted that he hit the same spot he’d already cut. She held her bound hands before him, and he reopened her cut as well.

Before she could even utter the words, she heard a collective gasp - her blood wasn't red anymore, and now they all knew that she was a natblida. She wasn't sure what it would mean for them, but she was sure that it had been Roan's intent to share this information with them and so she let it flow freely.

 

“Oso tai choda op kom jus.”

 

Clark whispered it back, unable to speak anymore, and took his hand. He pulled her to her feet, cut her binds and released her. He strode back to his throne with his back to her, a clear signal to everyone that she was under his power now.

 

“Wanheda answers to Haihefa!”

 

Echo’s chant was picked up by the war council, and then the natives to the new clan… And Clarke could only stand there and wait for it to die down. Roan let it go on for only a minute, but it felt like eternity.

 

“Ban oso au.”

 

The room cleared with the shuffling of furs and heavy feet leaving Wanheda stood before her king awaiting the next directive. She felt so empty, it was as if she had no idea what to do next. When everyone had gone, she asked the only question she had left.

 

“Did you save some of them all?”

 

Roan heard the unasked question, the treasonous one she couldn’t ask anymore. His eyes flicked down her form slowly as he considered his answer before they met hers again.

 

“Skaikru was difficult. Those who would not swear fealty were expelled. There are a handful who agreed to the terms, and they were excluded from this ceremony for obvious reasons.”

 

The terms. Excluded because they’d see her and maybe get ideas? Or maybe because they’d like to strangle her. Roan seemed pretty serious about his terms, and she wondered if he would upset were she asked who specifically in Skaikru had been saved? If he had wanted her to know, she supposed that he would have allowed them to be present. She opted not to ask.

 

Everything in her world was turned upside down, and she didn’t even know where to begin. Looking back was dangerous but going forward she decided she should tread very carefully.

 

“What do you want me to do now?”

                                                                                                *

 

Roan waited for Clarke to say or do something he could respond to. He preferred to react to her rather than act upon her based on historical evidence: when one tried to press Wanheda too much she tended to behave as her nickname implied. He had turned her loose to do just that and the results were undeniable: she was efficient when she needed to be despite being almost worthless in a direct tactical capacity. From the moment he met the young girl he thought he saw something more than just a dirty wild woman. Everyone had heard the tales and given the opportunity he hadn’t expected, he couldn’t help but to seize it.

 

_Have you seen this woman?_

_He had asked it often enough now to know when people had or had not. Those who had would look at the picture, actually look, and react to her according to their interactions, usually. Some of them were too scared and would not bother looking, because they didn’t know anything and didn’t want to._

_When he had asked the blonde in the outpost, her lie was more interesting. What had really tipped him off was the other woman – she hadn’t wanted to see, hadn’t wanted to know, but she wasn’t afraid. And when he had passed her on his way out, he had seen the eyes._

_People who saw Wanheda spoke of her eyes. Bluest of blues. Some had looked Roan in the face and noted the similarity. Most grounders did not have eyes as pale as his, and evidently, Wanheda’s. When he caught her from behind later that night, he had been surprised at the ease with which she was taken._

_Of course, the journey back to Polis was not easy. She fought tooth and nail until she had promised him in exchange for her friend… her lover? He hadn’t been sure at the time, but her reaction to the boy had been strong. Roan had recognized them for the children they were then._

She always fought. That she was so quiet and resigned now was strange. He wondered how long the calm would last, and especially when she realized who had and had not been saved among her old clan. Now that she was Azgeda, he could command her and she had to obey. How strange it must be to go from a position of power to being but a political trophy.

 

“You served your people as a leader. Some of them called you a princess. You were a figurehead…”

 

She swallowed so hard he could hear it. The guards had told him that she slept most of the day away, and that she had not touched the food and water left for her. He imagined the dehydration was throbbing in her head by now.

 

“You will still be a figurehead here. I don’t believe in magic, and I don’t believe in your special powers anymore than I believe that anyone outside that door could obey my rule in here without the threat of Praimfaya above… But some of the others still do believe in your magical powers. They’ve seen your new blood. And of course your taking the bunker single handedly and handing it over to us has cemented you in their whispered stories as the Great Wanheda.”

 

Clarke lowered her eyes from their stationary point over his shoulder. He was using the same mocking tone he’d used so long ago in the tunnels while they tried to wait out the Ice Nation’s army.

 

“You will serve as a piece we only move when we want drastic changes. For now everyone is getting along and following the rules we have set out.”

 

Looking back up to him Clarke found some of her courage again.

 

“And what are the rules?”

 

“My word is law. My guards have orders to sort everyone according to skill set: the strong will manage security and the hard labor jobs. One of Skiakru is already fixing the damage you did to the doors… Someone needs to sort the tech and start training others to manage it.”

 

Clarke seemed hesitant because that was her original bargaining chip. They were safe for now provided they continued to be useful and not create problems. Uprisings would not be tolerated.

 

“You are the one who said we had to survive in here. Anyone who causes trouble will be executed. Any whispers you hear… you should quell.”

 

He didn’t necessarily need to know. If she could keep peace, he would prefer to keep everyone alive until they could be turned loose on the world again. In Roan’s mind, once they were back outside it didn’t much matter. Of course, there was the matter of the population’s numbers and future of their race, but for now his only concern was to make sure that Clarke understood her new role and what he was asking of her.

 

“I’m a spy now?”

 

“You’re a branch of my government. Your job is to keep things smooth, same as before, only this time you answer to me. No more secrets, and no one comes before Azgeda.”

 

The girl nodded. She was not even twenty yet, and yet she behaved as the old ones that Azgeda had decided to leave outside, since they had little to offer when it was time to leave the bunker again. She seemed to be so much older after their deal, after killing Indra.

 

“And since you are also Azgeda now…”

 

He was taking her vow very seriously. He was tired of all the games her people had played: he truly believed she hadn’t been privy to some of the choices that Kane and Abby had made, but in others she had willingly played a part. Octavia’s deceit with the Flame being the most heinous… how much bloodshed could have been avoided if only he had been in total power as was originally the deal they struck?

 

Now that there was no more Trikru or Skaikru hopefully she could do as she had claimed and rise above the clans, or at least be faithful to his clan.

 

“You’ll stay in the upper levels. Echo’s second has been assigned to learn everything she can from you, and protect you from any remaining hostility. You will serve as one of my council members during meetings, and we have one in 2 hours. For now, follow me.”

 

She looked dreadful: blood on her temple, in her hair which was matted in braids and dirty clumps. Her skin was pale and sallow, and her lips cracked and dry. Everyone else was in much better shape, but everyone else had simply waltzed in thanks to her. He led her to the chamber just behind what he was going to use as a throne room, where there was a small set up of rationed out meat and water. Some alcohol and wine. Roan drank only water: no good to imbibe before he sat down to lay down the law.

 

“Eat, drink.”

 

She picked at a piece of meat, nibbled on it. This act would get old, quickly. She had come to him with the idea and while it had reeked of sly and low behavior, it managed to do what must be done. He wasn’t ready to admit that he thought it best. As with the incident in the island when they injected and tested Nightblood, though it had been the right thing to do, it certainly hadn’t been something he had taken pleasure in.

 

“If you are spoken to just remember your role. This is a tricky situation. We took in 11 Trikru, 20 Skaikru, a handful or so more or less of each of the other clans, excepting Floukru of course. We have to cooperate for at least 5 years, and you’re going to make it happen.”

 

She nodded and actually took a bite.

 

When the first of the ambassadors arrived they eyed Wanheda warily, but took their seats. The meeting quickly fell into business: a census had been taken and for each clan, there was shockingly small numbers. No one mentioned her or the fact that she was now elite among them, a commander in wait who could never be now that the Flame was gone, so far as they knew. Clarke tried not to feel for it in her pocket, knowing that the less attention she drew to it, the longer she could keep it. She would eventually have to share it with Roan, however... she supposed.

Maybe not though.

 

“Trikru: len. Sankru: sisti. Podakru: naitin. Delfikru: twel. Trishana: eit. Ingranrona: fodi thri. Ouskejon: tweni tu. Luowoda Kliron: tweni sen. Boudalankru: Fodi won. Yuljeda: eitin. Skaikru: tweni.”

 

Azgeda numbered something over 900 by Clarke’s count then, none of the other clans’ numbers even approaching a ninth of their power by that count. There would be no sensible rebellion and hopefully, no irresponsible and stupid attempts either. Each of the war chiefs had claimed responsibility for so many of the refugees who had joined Azgeda, and they’d outlined a plan to house and put them to work. No one was a slave but no one was truly free. Everyone was Azgeda now.

 

So be it, then.

 

It had been 24 hours since they’d been down here, and the doors were already repaired by one of Skaikru’s old mechanics, but no name was given and Clarke dared not to ask. Instead she catalogued every chieftain present:

 

Langren, who was the largest man in the room. He had come from the farthest northern reach and commanded some of the more brutish of Roan’s army. Many of the 900 would be under his command, and if they were anything like their leader, quiet and frightening in the way that a sleeping bear is. The man sounded vicious, his voice low and raspy like Roan’s but with none of the personality. It was all gruff and controlled darkness. He had control over Sankru and Delfikru, giving him a total of seventy two refugees.

 

Krida, who was a smaller woman than Echo but who obviously was not to be trifled with. Her scars were extensive, built off of old injuries and decorating her proudly. Krida was closer to the border of Trikru and her people were less burly, more lithe, and evidently more willing to interact with the less desirable clans such as Skaikru and Trikru… both of whom fell under her jurisdiction, thirty one souls at her whim and will.

 

Paskau’s voice was jolly and full of strange mirth, and his people were travelers and explorers for their clan. They traded in livestock and skills not limited to those that were considered honorable. Bit of a scalawag, Clarke guessed, but not entirely a bad guy. He held no animosity, and seemed to be the most friendly – if you could even say that – of the war chiefs. Podakru and Boudalankru’s sixty would be following his orders.

 

Gudinj was quiet and reserved like Roan, and gave Clarke a serious case of mistrust right off the bat. He did not speak except to state his refugees’ origins: Trishanakru, Ingranrona, Luowoda Kliron. Seventy eight total.

 

Echo was in charge of the final two clans, and claimed only 40 extra people on her rosters.

 

The small council were Roan’s closest advisors and most trusted informants. They were delegating the workload. Food. Power. Guards. Teachers and pupils of the new ways… How would they integrate the other clans’ remainders into their own? So many cultural differences and gaps in age and previous job might cause some trouble…

 

“Leave us. Tomorrow we reconvene – for now, we wait out Praimfaya’s first wave.”

 

Clarke stood with the others, but did not follow. Echo briefly conversed with another woman in the hall, and when the last of the council had left, Roan spoke to her once more.

 

“What you did will haunt you, I know. Indra was no enemy of yours. That said you did manage to save a couple hundred of the other clans. You should be proud of yourself… couldn’t have done it without you.”

 

Clarke wanted to snarl and attack him: he was mocking her, his derision for her tactics clearly evident. Even though he had asked that she do it he hadn’t thought of it or even considered it before she said anything, because it was beneath him. She was beneath him now too, and it ignited a fire in her soul to know that she was bearing yet another sin so that others could go on, ignorant of the true costs.

 

She could never go home again. She was alone now. Skaikru and Trikru would hate her once they learned what she’d done and unfortunately, due to the very public nature of Indra’s execution, it wouldn’t remain secret for very long.

 

“Everyone else has been assigned to follow one of the chiefs, except you… You are going to be Keah’s project, all alone. She is Echo’s second but she’s also training to be a council member and war chief herself. She will guide you and remind you of the new boundaries you have.”

 

The door opened and the young woman Echo had been speaking with stepped in.

 

“Wanheda…”

 

She inclined her head in a small bow to Clarke, and then stared at the wall behind Clarke and Roan.

 

“Leave now.”

 

Roan was facing the screen on the wall behind him that was still showing the advancement of Praimfaya. Evidently Clarke was not invited to the show. Wouldn’t it figure.

                                                                                *

 

Keah watched her new charge, and her new leader, carefully. She was to learn everything she could both useful in terms of managing this place and in managing Wanheda and her people. Roan’s dismissal was her cue to open the door and lead the younger girl out.

 

Wanheda followed her wordlessly, and once she was delivered to her personal quarters Keah watched her every move.

 

The young woman stripped naked in the center of the small apartment, seemingly unaware of Keah’s presence, but the guard knew better than that. Wanheda had earned her title by being aware of very many things. Her body was battered and bruised, but none of the marks were grievous. Keah recalled the bullet wounds King Roan had suffered, and how long they had taken to heal. Sometimes he still hovered a hand over that chest wound as though it pained him… Wanheda did not move as though in pain.

 

Clarke walked towards her small shower stall, and Keah observed that her routine was just that: quickly and efficiently cleanse, and then step out. The towel dry was rough and without ceremony. Then the zombie woman stepped towards the cot bed and slipped into the covers without any further ado. Keah waited only a minute longer before she slipped out to her own sleeping bunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so much written out but I'm slowly going back over to try and edit for mistakes and foggy wording, I hope this chapter is easier to read than when I first slapped it out on a keyboard. Thanks for the kudos and comments, hope you all enjoy.
> 
> I have recently edited this, and apologize for a grievous error, in which I forgot a fact that makes a huge plot point...


	3. Dismissed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changes always bring some form of resistance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is twice as long as previous chapters, and if you are a returning reader I encourage you to re-read chapter two as I made a mistake and omitted a very important factor in Clarke's new identity. I promise that the burn is coming, I suppose i ought to add a slow burn tag.

The bunker was created as a safe haven for so many that it was an astonishing feat that it had ever been built, let alone that it had remained hidden for so long. Roan was learning as much as he could about it, beginning at the bottom. Storage areas that had been integrated with large columns of cement that served as foundations and also as containment for the rods that penetrated into the earth below, linked to power turbines using chio-turmal energy, whatever that was, meant they should have no problems generating power or making room.

 

“So we basically just tend the fires below… It’s a hot job. You’ll want shifts or else people might get ideas about rebelling or going on strike. Whatever they feel is a fit reaction to having their culture destroyed by being absorbed by Ice Nation.”

 

The girl had a wicked tongue and she was only barely keeping it in check. If she spoke to Krida like that, she’d find herself on her ass and learning some painful lessons. Roan opted to let Krida teach them. He didn’t enjoy striking down cripples.

 

Above the geothermal turbines was a water tank. All of the water in the bunker was sourced from here, which is why living quarters began on the next floor up. There were 15 sections devoted strictly to bunks and halls for gathering among the residents on those floors.

 

Water reaching the top floors would be cooler, and was better suited to growing the food and entertaining. There was a pool meant for entertainment, but Roan wasn’t sure how often any one would want to swim. The idea of people in the past swimming for fun and enjoyment struck him as strange.

 

_He remembered when Clarke had shoved his face down under the surface of the shallow river, and he had been both pissed and impressed with her. Also, he hated water. Drowning was one of the worst ways he could imagine dying, as it bore no honor and no purpose._

 

A medical wing topped off the living quarters and was suited to serve their every need. Most of the supplies were gone, spoiled, but they could probably create more given time. Skaikru could do it.

 

A few floors were designated as meeting areas, gaming areas, and storage areas, and then above that were Roan’s quarters and few others. The control room was above them, and directly above that was a decon floor, which was a second level of such… in total, there were thirty five levels.

 

“Now can I go?”

 

If he was as easily riled as any other Azgeda man was, he might have kissed her for her insolence and false belief that she was a hard case. However, he no longer needed her now that he could truly see the meaning of the schematic in front of him.

 

“Yes.”

 

The young woman limped her way to the command lift door, muttering under her breath about damn grounders and damn kings and evil son of a bitches. She had that right at least, he was a son of a bitch.

 

Standing in the control room he observed the many things he did not understand: controls for climate, controls for access, controls for power… screens showing the end approaching outside a few days earlier than it had originally been predicted. Ironic how six months became six weeks became six days, which was now a mere six hours away.

 

No sound came through the bunker’s door though, and Roan was both grateful if somewhat saddened by the lack of sounds. Had they given up? Were they already dead? He was glad his people were safe. Wanheda was safe, as were her people, her many lost children… She would deserve a new honorific soon, now that there were whispers about her blood and about her hand in accepting the orphans from the world before the bunker.

 

Most of the other clans had offered a handful of their people, but Roan had opted for the most sensible among them, and a few that had not been offered had been bargained for. Clarke’s requirements when they discussed the Ark had been weighted towards young women. With an army that no longer had its own young women for the most part, this had been a boon. At least 200 of his soldiers would have something to look forward to in five years from outside of their own women. The rest… He couldn’t say.

If all went well he hoped that the refugees would assimilate and marry into Azgeda, securing their vows the forgo any past clan allegiances. Everyone could survive Praimfaya and hopefully, when they left the bunker, there would be children.

 

It was strange to think of everyone dying out. They had come so close, so many times now, and yet here they were. His mind turned to Clarke’s begging him to not order war on her people with her reasoning being if he did, everyone would die. Now he thought of children for his people!

 

Turning solemnly away from the screens he made his way to the corridor that would spiral down to his floor. It was strange to have a whole floor to himself, when most of his people were sleeping in bunks stacked two to three high.

 

His quarters were divided like so: the entry was clearly meant to welcome visitors, and had furniture strewn about that would serve a party of up to ten people at any point. Just past it were three doorwways. The first on the left lead to a dining area, which connected to a kitchen. The second door led to a private entertainment chamber, which also connected to the kitchen. The third door led to a more private meeting room, large enough only for three to four people, and was directly connected to a bedroom suite. Everything was strangely pristine, old and had the scent of slow decay to it… but it was nothing like the tattered remains of the world they had known. It was a last hold out of the world that Clarke’s people remembered, more than anything else.

 

He entered his private sleeping quarters, bathed without wasting time, and laid his head to rest.

 

He hoped for dreamless sleep.

                                                                                *

 

In the nightmares, Clarke remembered every evil thing she ever did. In the day time, she pretended that she didn’t feel these things. She still only saw Roan and his council, and they spent most of their time in the general control rooms. Praimfaya came, and passed. Nothing changed in the bunker. Some of the Azgeda began to grow uneasy with the knowledge that they were truly stuck down here now. She wondered how the Ark’s children were handling it.

 

She had seen two of them: a five year old boy being toted by an eight year old girl. She hadn’t been allowed to speak because she was trailing Roan as he inspected every inch of his new castle. But the girl had recognized her. And the look in her eyes was pure venom. Clarke couldn’t bear it and looked away first.

 

People were beginning to realize that she was not one of them anymore. All of Azgeda knew now, and though no one else had seen her bleeding she knew that they had started hear about the last natblida. She still hadn’t thought of a way to tell Roan.

 

On the start of the third week, everything was set: the Azgeda had younger soldiers learning from the people that they had adopted: everyone had a job now and everyone put in at least 8 hours. There was a curfew, and everyone was done with their day by no later than 9 pm. Order was strictly held, and no one bucked up.

 

Clarke was tied up for every waking minute of her day. Keah asked questions about Clarke’s people, their ways. Keah then instructed Clarke on Azgeda ways. The culture was brutal, and the people were proud. Clarke was already initiated into their ways to a degree, because Lexa had shown her… but Roan’s people were much more antagonistic. The fact that there had been no brawls amazed her. Especially when she learned there were about 700 men down here and only around 500 women.

 

She’d been surprised they had kept that order and Keah had given her a queer look.

 

“Did you not discuss this with King Roan, in regards to your Ark’s numbers?”

 

“Yes, we did.”

 

“We turned away all of those beyond childbearing years, unless they had a special skill you had identified.”

 

Clarke thought of her mother. She still hoped. Even so, she was still murdering people simply by naming them useful or not and there were plenty more nightmares she could have with this knowledge refreshed and laid bare for her again.

 

After the trading of rules and social standards, Clarke would attend meetings with Roan. Sometimes it was something stupid, like this person wouldn’t obey that order, and sometimes it was something serious. On one occasion Krida brought before him a member of Trikru who had been speaking of blocking themselves and Skaikru off into one side of one of the bunker floors, and foregoing their Azgeda guardians.

 

It was a young woman, Vedunne she said her name was, and she wanted no part of the ‘brutes that watch our every move, making their foul remarks to those of us who were given to you because we might one day be vessels for your clan’s continuing rule…’

 

Clarke heard some disturbing connotations and had asked to speak to Roan in private at the end of that very long day.

 

Keah had knocked on her door when it was time, and Clarke gave herself a once over. She wore simple clothes that did not speak to her old title and position. She wanted to talk to him like an equal again, rather than as a symbol or a subordinate. She still bristled when she heard some of the things that had been said about her lately, in regard to her trailing his every step and her gaze when he commanded that something should be more Azgeda’s way and less dangerous. Less foreign, less like the old clans would have preferred.

 

‘Wanheda is King Roan’s trophy… Wanheda serves the King, who has absorbed the power of all the commanders… Wanheda is teina with King Roan… Haihefa don jak Wanheda op kom skai…’

 

She was fully aware of how Vedunne felt only she knew that Vedunne wasn’t protected like she felt she was.

 

When she entered Roan’s private quarters she realized they were set up very similarly to hers. Even as a prisoner she was given a high station, she noted. He was sitting in a room in the back, directly in the middle, wearing only a set of pajama pants and drinking something that smelled both sweet and sour all at once. Slowly making her way through she searched for any guards to make sure she could speak freely.

 

She hadn’t spoken to him about anything without first being asked these past few weeks because she had nothing to day. He had held up his end of the bargain and she was vindicated in her murders, yet again.

 

“You wanted to speak to me?”

 

His voice was raspy and tired, and sounded thick and slow. She didn’t shiver though she might have in the past.

 

“Yes.”

 

Entering his little alcove, she stood before him, not willing to be comfortable and seated before him. He obviously wasn’t taking this seriously.

 

“So speak your piece, Wanheda.”

 

He mocked her with everything he said, when it was just them. His eyebrows wiggled with the name given to her and he raised his cup to her, sweeping his arm out in a wide circle, indicating that she was free to do as she pleased. Welcomed. An equal, mocked by his every word and movement.

 

“Vedunne.”

 

“What about her?”

 

“You threw her in a jail cell because she was afraid for her safety.”

 

“She was mounting a group of your people and hers to push my people out of their beds, because she doesn’t like us. If she didn’t like us, she didn’t have to take up a spot. One more of my men could have lived if she would rather try out Praimfaya.”

 

The threat wasn’t subtle, and Roan’s croaky voice led Clarke to realize he was drinking alcohol. He reclined back on the couch and pointed to the one in front of him.

 

“Sit.”

 

“No thank you. I’m also here because I hear what they’re saying about me. If it’s the same they’re saying about and to her, to the women in those groups, then I want you to understand something…”

 

Roan laughed darkly, a chuckle that ran over Clarke’s skin like the edge of a knife. She wondered where he had them lying around. Surely he wasn’t unarmed, even in this place that spelled his personal and private safety and seclusion. It must be nice, and also, distancing – everyone else was in an exposed bunk

 

“These people have lost everything and they’re being subjected to strange men leering at them, saying lewd things, and making unwelcome advances. I know your people don’t view rape lightly. And you know that these people didn’t sign up to be threatened with it.”

 

Roan slowly sat up, placing his elbows on his knees. His scars were plainly visible, almost every inch of shoulders, chest and back carved up from years of hard living.

 

“No one has raped anyone else, and if they did they would answer for their crimes. That is a capital crime… the punishment is death. Vedunne is inciting unnecessary fear and causing a rift between Krida’s men and the people they were charged to protect and bring into our clan.”

 

His emphasis on the word ‘our’ felt like a slap. Standing and advancing, he towered over her again, the scary bear of a man that wouldn’t be moved by anything Clarke could do to him. She had stabbed him once, and it hadn’t even slowed him down.

 

_He hadn’t expected the knife, she had an advantage and she took it. If she could stun him she could get away, because she was smaller and faster, and because he would be injured. Once she made contact she tried to get up and flee, but he easily disarmed her. She was shocked by his speed and power, even hurt, and he growled in her face, baring his teeth and trying to cow her._

_“If you wanted to kill me you’d have done it already!”_

_“There’s still time.”_

His cup held low at his side, he kept coming and she was forced to step backwards, hitting a door that was solidly closed. He came close enough she could smell him, feel the heat of his body on hers. His breath was sweet and spicy now, and she realized it was wine in the cup. His body smelled clean and scrubbed with the generic soaps that they were making now, no fragrance and no extra frills. Beneath it was the smell of his personal musk, and she tried to calm her beating heart. This was an intimidation tactic. He was so close she could feel him without touching.

 

“Are you afraid that someone will rape you, Wanheda?”

 

His voice was soft now, and deceptively caring. She scowled up at him, all pretense of fear forgotten. She didn’t mean to but she stood up tall as she could, rising to the balls of her feet.

 

“No. Everyone hates me. And, I have a guard. You’ve kept me as a symbol of power over death regardless, so no. I’m not afraid of anything. I gave up everything to make sure this worked, and all I’m asking is that you make sure it does! No one should be afraid, and the people that were in that bunk floor are!”

 

His eyes were locked onto hers, searching. They were dilated, whether due to drink or light or something else she wasn’t sure. She was close enough that if anyone came in now they might mistake the pair for being a couple, kissing and bonding. She didn’t care.

 

“I could have her head for treason. I locked her up for a week. She has nothing to fear behind bars.”

 

Stepping away from Clarke Roan paced around to the other side of the small couches, where Clarke noticed a table with the bottle of wine and another cup. He poured it unceremoniously and returned. Every step was as silent as death, and when he held the cup out to her she debated throwing it in his face. What if she did? Would he stand unmoved, or would he come at her like a cat in the forest, death incarnate?

 

“Everyone hates you, you say… do you hate everyone?”

 

What was he asking?

 

“No. I loved my people, I loved Trikru, I wanted to save everyone, as many as I could, and now they don’t belong to me anymore. I don’t belong to them…”

 

_I am alone._

 

He took another sip from his drink and shoved the other cup at her chest, and she was forced to catch it or wear it. He went back to his seat, collapsing with grace despite the weight of him.

 

“Are you drunk?”

 

“Not nearly. Sit.”

 

Why couldn’t he understand what she was trying to tell him? His people were verging on breaking reins that must be held tightly, unless he wanted to deal with riots and rebels, unless he wanted to be in Jaha’s position on the Ark, leading but only just barely.

 

“Don’t you know what they’re saying about you and I in the bunks?”

 

Roan chuckled again and took another drink. He gestured for her to do the same and she gave up, sat down and took one. It was bitter and dark in her mouth. It looked like blood.

 

“What do they say about ‘us?’”

 

Clarke decided to poke the bear.

 

“They say that, you took me, that I’m a trophy, that we are entwined…”

 

He took another drink and she had to wonder if he might be drunker than he knew. She was insulted at the insinuations, because they felt like accusations. Wasn’t he concerned? Or was that his goal, the whole time, to make his people think she belonged to him, like a possession?

 

“They’re acting like I’m more than just Wanheda...”

 

He smiled at her and it reminded her more of a cat about to eat a canary than anything else.

 

“I’d think that would work well to your advantage, natblida. After all, if everyone hates you, what’s to stop them killing you, other than their king’s command?”

 

Clarke leaned forward in earnest and tried to find the right words to ask him what the hell he meant.

 

“Are you saying that you’re protecting me?”

 

She thought back to when he almost broke her arm and made her swear to kill Indra. Thought back to the time when he had his archers take aim at her in Eden’s Pass. Before that he had told her he couldn’t save Skaikru, nevermind surviving ALIE. And he had held a sword to her neck in the streets once, and prior to that of course… the list went on and on.

 

“I’m saying Wanheda’s powers are envied throughout our legends now, especially since you’re also the last of an old and powerful lineage… Tread carefully, little girl.”

 

“You’re a pig.”

 

She drank down her entire cup and stood, ready to leave. She strode out of the room and towards the front door when she felt him snag her by the wrist. She immediately tried to flee, recalling the last time he held her this way. True to history he had her down on her knees in seconds, their hands entangling,  his bare chest looming over her, her eyes level to his navel. He wasn’t hurting her, but he wasn’t letting her go either.

 

“I didn’t dismiss you, and you are still my subject,” Roan growled at her.

 

She glared daggers at him, holding onto his hand with her free one in the effort to keep her awkward balance on one knee and ankle, spread on the ground beneath him like an offering.

 

“You came here to ask me to do something about Vedunne. What would you have me do?”

 

She bit her lip rather than tell him she’d rather he go back and never force the people he took in to surrender their identities, their free will. She’d rather he had never paraded her around like the spoil of a war they never fought because of her. She’d rather he hadn’t ever laid eyes on her, nor she on him…

 

_Except all the times he also saved your life. Ontari would have had your head…_

 

“I wanted you to turn her loose and forgive her for her alleged crime, and allow the people to bunk where they wanted…”

 

She was shocked when he sank to his knees in front of her, still holding her hand in some desperate and strange raised fist with his between them. She could feel the muscles in his forearm between her breasts now, the veins thrumming gently against her skin. His chest was hot on the back of her one hand, and she tried to pull away before he burned her.

 

He had lost his cup somewhere along the way and now he held both of her hands in his, her arm still trapped between them. She was pulling back with all her might but wasn’t able to free herself and he leaned forward, his next words so quietly she stopped struggling to hear them, light as a breath.

 

“You know what will happen if I allow them to become ‘them,’ again, and us to become ‘the enemy…’”

 

He leaned closer, placing his lips just next to where her jaw met her neck and she stopped breathing. What was this?

 

“They’ll be killed, or worse, and I’ll have no recourse. This way, they are protected, like little children.”

 

She fought to breathe again and hold back her tears as he continued to wait there with her in his iron grip, as though they weren’t both kneeling just inside of his quarters where a guard might happen upon them and go after her with murderous intent.

 

“Do you think we’re little children?”

 

“I think the people of the other clans are like children. I think you’re like a child. Always asking for boons, never wise enough to see when they’ve been granted, despite your failure to provide anything of value in exchange, not even gratitude…”

 

He opened the shell of her hand and stroked the scar on her palm he had put there not long ago. It was still healing, shiny and bright against the rest of her skin.

 

“And what do I have of value to offer to you? You can command anything you want from me, so if you want something, just ask for it damnit.”

 

She tried to snap her wrist free and was met with resistance she couldn’t break. He unexpectedly released her and she fell to the floor before him, but was so stunned by this whole encounter that she forgot she was leaving.

 

“Put yourself in my shoes. My people are alive and we are all but extinct at the same time: we have nearly 700 men and maybe 300 women of our own. Without the rest of the clans we will all die out. But your people are so resistant to getting along that it is very likely we will have problems in this bunker. Vedunne is setting the stage. You are setting the stage. Your example is stoic and cold, callous and completely disregards anything to do with Azgeda. I could have killed you and taken your power as easily, -“

 

He stood again, his movement smooth as a panther’s, and went back into the smaller room –

 

“MORE easily than I’m trying to keep you and your people alive now. We could be as black hearted as you all seem to think we are and at least then we would have earned all of the enmity of your people, Wanheda!”

 

He returned with another cup full of wine, leaning in the doorway and glaring down at her. He swilled the cup about and took a large swallow, and she was trying very hard not to incite him further. Laying on her elbows and back, she tried to slowly pull her legs beneath her, trying not to move too quickly lest her pin her on her back.

 

“Vedunne stays in the cell. You can visit her, if you like. And the words my people whisper are the words that form your spell over them. The only thing that will keep the peace is if your people stop being so resistant to becoming one clan.”

 

He turned his back on her and walked back through the smaller room, through another door to the right. She stood, not sure if she should sneak out while he wasn’t paying attention or not, when she heard him yell through the door in his scary king voice once more.

 

“NOW you are dismissed.”

 

She ground her heel into the floor, and stalked out before he could change his mind and start in on her again.


	4. The Cost of Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all have our burdens, and we all pay a price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is hugely unedited, so I apologize for any grammar or spelling errors. I wrote this on a whim and decided it was where I wanted to go with the story, despite the fact that it has zero Roan first person presence and is a third person view of Clarke. It just feels more right than what I had already written, which I felt wasn't going anywhere in the end. I'm working on more to come soon. Ta.

Clarke was not sure if she was drunk or if she was so enraged that it was difficult for her to stop shaking and walk straight. She was seeing red… he was such a bastard, but she couldn’t do anything about it.

 

_You can go see her, you can talk to someone else, you can try to do your job and keep these people alive despite their best damn efforts to get themselves killed…_

 

As she entered her quarters, closing the door behind her with as much force as one could muster with such a door – a bulkhead door, heavy and slow, designed to keep out contamination should it break the bunker, to keep her alive until help could arrive – she slid down to the floor and tried not to cry. She hadn’t cried in so long now, she wondered if she even remembered how. The first silent tear seemed a distant cry from a time when she knew what it was to be human, to feel so deeply that she could react and show how she was feeling.

 

_When they had taken her father away, when Wells died, when her mother tried to explain, when Finn had died at her hands, when Lexa had left her…_

 

The clock on the far wall told her it was still early in the night, and that she had hours before she could go and see the woman who might have been her in the past. She only knew what she had seen of the younger woman: fierce, beautiful, and angry. Hadn’t Clark been that, once upon a time before she became a murderess?

 

Maybe.

 

Damn him though, damn Roan for thinking that he could just make everyone get along. That wasn’t the way the world worked before, but recalling the swear she’d made before his council, it was probably the way the world worked now. It had to, didn’t it?

 

If there was one fight, one brawl that broke out, there was nothing to stop them all killing each other. Their population was so fragile now. Every single person mattered.

 

_That’s why he didn’t kill her already…_

 

Clarke wasn’t a leader, wasn’t in charge, but she still had a power over some of these people. She couldn’t save everyone anymore, that was on Roan now, but maybe she could do something for Vedunne.

 

She was too tired to move and too sad to hold it in anymore. And even more upsetting, she couldn’t help but hate the power he had over he. She had never backed down before, had never felt as though she weren’t equal to any power or force that had come at her in this world. And yet, whether it was sheer physical force on his side or her own emotional weakness and depression, he had managed to cow her, yet again.

 

The alcohol was still burning and with heavy heart and fuzzy eyelids, Clarke cried herself to sleep against the thick door of her quarters.

 

*

 

Vedunne sat in the cell, hating this new life. It had been bought at such great expense – the blood of her father, her mother, her baby brother – and the only reason she had been permitted was because the great Ice Nation had deemed her worthy of being a breeding sow. Disgusting.

 

She had tried so hard to comply with the new law: she must no longer be Trikru. They had wiped out her people, and killed her leader, and picked her for a job they would only give to an animal. But she should be grateful, she should learn to work for them, with them, and tolerate the whispers.

 

She could vomit if she could but summon the bile.

 

She had been assigned to run the hydroponics- she had a Skaikru teacher, and an Azgeda bunkmate. The young woman, who refused to share her name upon introductions, only offering a sneer, was also supposed to be learning to run the new farms. They had an Azgeda guard, who was “only there to learn as well” – but since he was only around when Vedunne was near her Skaikru teacher, she doubted very much that he was just a pupil. His size and demeanor indicated that he was not so much of a gatherer as he was a hunter. Skaikru was in a similar position, and it had been easier to speak to her teacher. He was young and clever, and kinder than anyone else she had met. He had told her that it was not her fault she was chosen and others were not… but he couldn’t possibly understand.

 

He was a man, not chosen to be an animal. He was chosen because he had something to offer, and that meant he had power.

 

_So pretty, she is, with her hair… and those eyes! She should bunk with us, why should she be stuck in with those who do not appreciate such wonderous beauty?_

 

She had heard the whispers sparingly at first. Her bunkmates, the unnamed Sneering Girl, and the mecha Girl, Raven, were not exactly her preferred mates, but she was grateful that at least relations were civil enough. She could tolerate a scowl and only necessary conversation, but the whispers… the looks…

 

She was disgusted. She wanted no part of it, and yet she had been left with no choice. All because the Wanheda had deemed fit to hand the mantle of power over to that nomonjoka. The feeling of bile rose in her throat at once when she considered that ga, foulest of all creatures here under the Earth…

 

_Wanheda… How could you be allowed to continue on? Is it true, what they say about you, that you’re his plaything? Closest thing to Skaikru royalty they had, closest to the haihefa’s age… And of course, she is beautiful._

 

It only made sense that she belonged to him. She was dangerous and powerful, and too good for any of the other pigs here…

 

But Vedunne was just another sow to them.

 

She heard the shuffling of her guards, signaling that there would be food and water soon. She got only one cup of water, a half crust of bread, a single strip of jerky, and some of the strange, brown cubes that Skaikru claimed would sustain them until they could reap their first harvests. There was a single crisped piece of the grass that grew in the rivers as well. Food enough to sustain her: at the cafeteria, she would have been given almost 3 times as much food.

 

She took what she could get, in case they came for her. She’d be ready.

 

It was only a few hours before she heard the clunking of the doors at the end of the hall, and got the surprise of a lifetime when who but Wanheda should arrive. It had been 3 days and no one had been to see her. She half expected she was going to be left here, and tried to strangle the tiny relief at seeing a face that was not scarred and brutish.

 

“Wanheda… to what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

The young woman stopped far enough away from the bars that even if Vedunne moved quickly enough, she couldn’t have reached her to break her pretty neck. Clever. Wouldn’t it just figure that the Commander of Death would know how to sidestep her own. She had certainly done it frequently enough.

 

“Vedunne. How are you?”

 

As if they were friends.

 

“I’m locked up and waiting to be sentenced to death. I’d like for you to leave now.”

 

Wanheda had the decency to cast her eyes down, and her cheeks colored. The dark flush was proof of the rumors then: Wanheda was a natblida. How had it not been known, for all of the times Trikru had seen her bleed before? Or perhaps it had been a great secret, like that of the Azgedan natblida, Ontari.

 

Wanheda was a powerful piece to have on your side in a political maneuver, and her people had been forced to maneuver from the minute they had landed. Vedunne supposed it was such a secret then.

 

“I came to ask you why you were trying to remove Aiela from your bunks… And now I’m also curious as to why you think you’re going to be sentenced to death?”

 

Wanheda’s calm voice and level gaze burned like a brand and Vedunne wanted nothing more than to break her pretty nose, rip her golden scalp from her skull, and twist her head clean off. She could feel the snarl working itself up on her face and fought hard not to shake with her rage.

 

“The king was clear when he made us all swear: any who did not accept the rule of his people, of his _men_ , would be sent to the next life… As to why I refused to sleep next to that ga… How could I trust her not to slit my throat while I slept?!”

 

Vedunne was at the bars before she knew it, teeth bared and fingers white knuckled around them, though she couldn’t hope to bend them, gripping them as tightly as she wished to grip Wanheda’s neck as she tried to explain what she couldn’t even understand in herself… She felt so very lost.

 

“We had to become Azgeda, but they don’t have to give anything up! We must become their breeding animals, we must forget the faces of our dead families, and we must endure the looks, the brushes, the whispers! We are not even permitted to mourn, because then we would be respecting our dead people! And our people are dead, Wanheda! Thanks to you! I know what you did…”

 

Vedunne hadn’t realized she was screaming until she was hoarse, and it took everything she had to keep going.

 

“I know that you killed Indra, you killed us… You chose for us our fates, rather than letting us choose for ourselves… You are the commander of everything, but you gave it all to him…”

 

Wanheda hadn’t moved at all but as Vedunne panted, trying to catch her breath the other woman stepped forward, within arms’ reach. Vedunne itched to wring her neck but found she hadn’t the strength anymore, and as she sagged down to the ground, leaning against her cell’s bar for support, she realized that she was crying for the first time since her mother’s face had vanished behind the bunker doors.

 

“Ai moba.”

 

Wanheda’s whispered apology felt both like a slap and a wave of relief, and Vedunne choked on a sob as she turned her teary eyes up to the other woman.

 

“I didn’t know – I don’t know what is happening to anyone. I am only allowed to speak to my guard, and the king. And… I only know a little bit about the Azgeda, but I know this, Vedunne…”

 

Wanheda knelt next to her, and it was so hard for Vedunne to resist the urge, had there been no bars between them she might have held this woman and wept for what she may never have again, because this was the first time she had experienced anything remotely like humanity since this had all begun.

 

“I will tell the king what you’ve told me, and I will ask that he send you to learn from me… if you can make me a promise.”

 

_Freedom, at a cost as always._

 

“What do you want from me? I am a criminal, a traitor to my new clan…”

 

“I want you to teach me about everything that has happened down here, and I want to teach you about… about our new clan. They’re not… they’re in charge for the next five years but after that, if you decide you’d rather go your own way, they won’t stop you.”

 

Vedunne wanted to tell Wanheda that she was wrong, about the things the men said when Vedunne walked past, about the way they looked at all of them, the few Trikru girls left... And even the Skaikru girls. If Wanheda knew she might have them all killed, but if she was to be believed…

 

She was only ever seen in the company of the king.

 

“Are you his?”

 

Wanheda seemed confused, biting her lip and furrowing her brows.

 

“Are you his…”

 

Understanding donned on the other girl’s face and Vedunne caught the glimpse of disgust, shame, and then watched it all fade back behind her mask. Wanheda was a great leader, true, if she could pretend that she wasn’t bothered by that implied relationship.

 

“No. I’m… My power is his. That’s all.”

 

Wanheda’s power was the king’s. And yet, she hadn’t come for Vedunne’s head. Either Vedunne was still useful as a breeding sow or else, the king didn’t care enough about her so called rebellion to kill her just yet. This was a chance.

 

_If I can get out of here…_

 

“I will learn from you, Wanheda, though I cannot promise you will learn much from me.”

 

Vedunne was always honest. She wouldn’t promise anything to this demon, but she would accept Wanheda’s help.

 

 


	5. Filling the Long Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the only light at the end of the tunnel is five years away, and all you want to do is live in the now. Clarke looks for a human connection, and searches for her stance on Roan. Roan searches for a way to find his balance, and keep the peace.

She had avoided him all morning, risen before Keah had entered and curtailed any mediocre effort the guard had tried to use to get her to follow the status quo: Wanheda would not got to another meeting until she had seen the prisoner, alone. She wore clothes mostly from the bunker’s stores… but she was supposed to be Azgeda. If she couldn’t pretend to be she could at least pretend to dress like them. Keah wore a fur vest, from time to time, and while climate control essentially meant that they didn’t need to be kept warm, Clarke opted to try wearing a thinner vest with dark buckles, and a thin trimming of fur around the arm holes and waist. It was tight and slightly uncomfortable, but she wasn’t overheated and she was trying something.

 

She was trying to do as Roan had suggested, trying to be Azgeda. It was so tiring to be the enemy, and she wasn’t surrendering, but she also wasn’t giving up: give a little, to get a little. The little she got would perhaps be the cooperation of some of the others.

 

Keah’s silent opinion was that the king had permitted this – he had told her this not an hour past – but that it was folly. Wanheda’s power to persuade had driven the former Commander Lexa against her own people, once. And though this Vedunne was but another person trapped here in hell with the rest, Keah knew the power of one voice of dissent. Especially when that voice became Wanheda’s. She wasn’t sure what exactly had happened between her king and Wanheda, but she opted to watch and wait, see what became of this arrangement they had struck. She noticed that Clarke’s normal plain black attire had been swapped for something a little less standoffish. She looked more like one of the gona in Keah’s old village than she did Skaikru now.

 

Wanheda had strode right out of the door to her quarters, leaving Keah to close the door behind herself and skip to catch up. The trip to the lift and down to the bottom most level was quiet, and tinged with repressed curiosity on Keah’s part, and something dark on Wanheda’s part. It was hard to say when the mask of indifference was locked onto the blonde’s face.

 

Clarke was struggling to maintain her calm, trying to find the words she wanted. It was hard because she only had the vaguest idea of her goal in speaking to Vedunne. She desperately wanted to talk to someone other than Roan or Keah, but she also knew nothing of this other woman, other than that she had been driven by unhappiness to break the absolute rule: we are one clan and we forget all others.

 

She had to at least make Vedunne feel more connected to this clan… or make it so that she could feel less threatened by them. Perhaps moving her around on the social totem pole… The hierarchy was clear: King. King’s Council, including herself albeit in more of a shadow capacity than the others. Council members’ various informants and handlers, the ones who managed smaller clusters. Each cluster was a family unit, usually, or an extended family’s nearest units aligned. She had learned about the various ways in which they had survived: most were farmers and hunter gatherers, somewhat nomadic, about forty percent of the population. Then there were the tradesmen: horsemen, smiths, craftsmen and builders, about another twenty percent of the population.

 

The warriors made up the bulk of the population, almost the entire remaining forty percent. The bunker had strange odds: most of the men here were warriors, some younger ones were apprenticed to one of the other groups but had been called for the war against Trikru and Skaikru, and so had entered the bunker as their masters far away could not. They were soldiers who had previously had the job of threatening people like Vedunne.

 

They had lost expertise and knowledge, but they were trying to hone skills and carry on anyway.

 

Clarke had to set some new example for Vedunne, expose her to someone else if possible. If all she knew was that the men who had been hunting her people surrounded her, Clarke could only imagine the stress and anxiety that the other girl felt.

 

_I feel it too… but I can’t do anything about it. I can’t even stand up to Roan when it’s just us…_

 

She gnashed her thoughts against the idea that she was just a lost child as he had said. She was Wanheda, and she was going to see this Vedunne, a potential leader buried in a sea of sworn enemies… As she pulled away from the strong, thin hand that Vedunne had reached through the bars towards her own, Clarke rose. She had Vedunne on board. It had been hard to stand up and leave the girl lying in the cell, crying her eyes out. Clarke didn’t want to revisit those emotions in herself, and distance was needed… as well as a chance to speak to Roan again.

 

When Vedunne had asked if she was his… whore? Concubine? Clarke hadn’t been sure how to respond after all. She knew that some might think it, but to be asked, point blank… Did he know what was being said?

 

By now he’s surely be finished with his morning meetings, and she was satisfied that Vedunne was no longer a ticking time bomb. As she met back up with Keah and they entered the lift, she smashed the button for the control room.

 

                                                                                                *

 

 

She fiddled with her thumbs waiting for him to arrive. Would he be upset with her for last night? Would he even remember it?

 

She remembered everything, of course.

_His breath on her skin, the shivers it gave her of both fear and… mostly fear but she couldn’t deny that there had been other things._

 

The bruises on her arm spoke of dark things and she wondered if this was one of those unhealthy relationships she’d been told to beware of. He could have hurt her. He had mentioned rape. But he hadn’t done anything other than insult her, squeeze her arm, and yell at her.

 

How would he respond to what she was about to ask of him? She couldn’t accept him shooting her down. She _had_ to get Vedunne out of there, and she _had_ to do this. It was the only way she knew of to do what he had asked, to become one clan for real.

 

When the door was opened again and Roan strode in she carefully observed his every move. His eyes raked over her, and his scowl didn’t move an inch. Her efforts, small as they were, did not register. He came to stand beside her, and she slowly placed her palms on the table and rose, readying herself to start. She wasn’t prepared for Kane to follow Roan in, nor was she prepared for his expression. She guessed he had heard about the things she had done.

 

“Clarke.”

 

“Kane.”

 

He wasn’t a Chancellor anymore, as his people now belonged to a King.

 

“I brought your old leader here to speak some wisdom into you.”

 

Clarke opened her mouth to protest, to ask to speak to him alone for a minute, to figure out what the hell was going on  -

 

And Roan strode out. Clarke couldn’t believe she was seeing a familiar face, and she hoped that he had some wisdom alright: she felt so lost these days, living in the shadow of Azgeda and with Indra’s ghost, the ghost of everyone else she had no idea if they were alive or dead… It was hard to shut down her shock and tuck Vedunne away for later. Before she knew what she was saying she realized she had asked a question to Kane.

 

“Is my mother…?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Kane hadn’t moved an inch and his voice was tired and raspy, but his news was music to her ears. Her mother was alive.

 

“Does she know I’m here? I know we’ve been parading, but I haven’t seen…”

 

“Yes.”

 

Clarke slowly sat herself down and felt her heart beating an insane rhythm. She might pass out.

 

“Clarke. Roan tells me that you are struggling… because you think we are.”

 

“Vedunne is in the brig.”

 

Kane started to move and his body was jerky, uncoordinated. Was he alright? Clarke couldn’t tell if it was fatigue, shock, or injuries or soreness from working hard. How did they live now, her old people?

 

“Vedunne is… feisty. She reminds me of you, and Octavia, a lot.”

 

“Did she deserve it?”

 

“No, but, she must realize that the rules we live by have changed. So we _can_ live.”

 

Clarke didn’t accept those rules, but she put on a face and pretended to.

 

“Roan wants her to get in line.”

 

He was quite, pensive.

 

“Yes.”

 

“How do you think we make them get in line?”

 

Roan’s plan had been that Clarke would: if Haihefa controlled Wanheda then no one could stand against him. But Vedunne was testing him, and Clarke wondered who else would now? Vedunne clearly felt that Clarke was her enemy when she had gone to talk to the prisoner, and even though they’d shared some heavy things, Clarke knew better than to think they were anything other than lost souls on the same level now.

 

“You make them, Clarke.”

 

Like Roan made her. She sagged back down into her seat at the table and tried to find herself in this mess. She had always led by other means than force. She didn’t know how to make anyone do anything.

 

_And you were just thinking you had to make Roan give you Vedunne… What a joke._

 

“So, how do you make someone do something they don’t want to?”

 

Kane sagged into the seat across from her and leaned forward, grabbing her hands in his. He was calloused and thin, his fingernails showing the grime of the hydroponics tanks he worked now. He had been a leader once, and had made people do things they didn’t want to. Hell, she could even believe he hadn’t wanted to float her father now…

 

“I can only tell you that we are with you, Clarke, and that we will do our best to help you…”

 

And for Clarke, that was almost enough.

 

*

 

As he left Clarke to her former mentor and leader, Roan tried to focus on the tasks at hand.

 

Head counts: they hadn’t lost anyone yet, which was good as it had only been a month now. Food production was coming along, though they still had the stockpile of ‘emarees’ which should last them through two harvests of the algaes and other plants. They could space the preserved food out and eat the fresher stuff, and hopefully they’d make it through the long years to come. Medical bay had been fully set up and Abby Griffin was training two people from each of the war chief’s flocks – they in turn were teaching her about some of the treasures they had brought. Some plants had more use than as food, and some of the medical supplies were expired. But the fresh stuff Azgeda and the others had brought with them could be propagated.

 

He tried not to think of the gaunt face that had greeted him when he’d entered the council chamber, and of the relief and sadness and surprise that etched into her face when Kane had followed him in. He did not think of the ways he wished things had been different, that their alliance had held and that she could have been a leader in her own right. She would have made a good one, and she certainly had the bearing in the past.

For a month she had spoken to no one but himself or Keah. Keah’s nightly reports were moderately interesting to him: Clarke might divulge to Keah about individuals she knew that lived in the bunker, whether or not Clarke knew they were there. He catalogued this information for later, just in case. Clarke was lonely, and she cried out in her sleep, thrashed and sweat until her sheets were soaked. She did not wake from these nightmares, but the next morning would breathe deeply and force herself to rise. Some days she was more tired than others but those were the days she forced herself even harder. Keah had not found her in bed this morning, had reported that Wanheda had flown down to see the prisoner before anyone was even aware she was awake.

 

Roan had noticed, and he thought perhaps a touch of her old life may change her motivation. If she was doing more than playing a political power piece she might keep the others from rebelling. He did not want to have to execute anyone.

 

Once headcounts were done, he got an assessment from each of his chiefs. Krida’s was last, and the one he cared most to hear.

 

“They have been quiet, since Vedunne was removed. They are aware she is being punished for mutiny, but they do not know what her punishment is… do we reveal this information, haihefa?”

 

Krida waited quietly, assessing Roan’s reaction. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, and running his nails underneath each other, picking at his cuticles… Roan determined he was done with this meeting.

 

“Not yet. Leave me.”

 

Mumbles of acquiescence and the sound of the strange chairs moving backwards across the floor were the only sounds as the war chiefs left the room. One of the former Skaikru members that was instructing one of the younger Azgeda on the climate controls was staring, but quickly resumed his task instructing his new apprentice.

 

When he found himself back in his own quarters, he commanded Echo bring Wanheda when she returned to hers. He wasn’t sure how long she’d be tied up with Kane but he’d like to see her afterwards. He followed his routine, his habit. Wild animals developed habits that kept them alive and he was no different, unchanged from in his time in the wilderness.

 

He called for Krida, first though. While he waited he considered his next command very carefully. They were one clan now, and his rule was absolute: but he had asked Clarke to lead by example, and he needed to make it so that the others could follow.

 

Clarke had the benefit of being his power piece: she was protected from intensive labor, she was hidden from his soldiers, and she was free to sleep alone in private quarters. Krida’s bunks were neatly arranged and there was no reason to change that, but perhaps… there was a need to address Vedunne’s complaints regarding the way his men might look at some of the new women. Krida’s entry was silent and graceful, and she greeted him appropriately for a loyal follower.

 

“Yes haihefa?”

 

“Vedunne’s people are in mourning and some of our more rambunctious soldiers are evidently making advances.”

 

Krida shifted, not denying it. He supposed it was expected in Krida’s opinion, but Clarke seemed to feel it complicated her job. And since the men felt that way, and Clarke felt the other way…

 

“Remind them that willing bed partners are better than angry ones.”

 

Krida inclined her head and left. The days were mostly this empty now, but there were some joys still to be had. He wouldn’t discourage the men seeing what they did, but it was the war chiefs’ duty to ensure that the blending of the clans was smooth, efficient, and as free of bloodshed as possible.

 

“Ghadeon. Spar with me.”

 

The guard standing outside began moving towards the gym and Roan followed, stretching his muscles and preparing. It had been a while since he had a good fight, and it would be nice to earn some bruises, and deliver them as well. In the back of his mind, he imagined it was whoever had set Vedunne off. They had made his life immensely uncomfortable in the last 24 hours, and while he didn’t have any other way to spend his time –

 

_With the great Wanheda?_

 

\- He would rather not have had to deal with this mess in the first place. He also would rather get rid of all the pent up energy before Clarke finished with Kane and found him again.

 

                                                                                                *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, quickly written and thoroughly unedited. Apologies for any mistakes. I'm trying to bring this beast back in line with where I was originally going with it.


	6. Painful Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all about the give and take.

Ghadeon’s heavy blade landed flat and hard against Roan’s temple, and Roan grunted in exertion as he pressed his own forward, trying to land a blow. Ghadeon had been his teacher when he was a boy, and the older man remained the better warrior, though Roan would never confess this. Ghadeon was twice Roan’s size, and Roan fought his damnest as he felt a fist land inches from the bullet wound that he had been left with when he had entered Polis with Clarke under ALIE’s rule.

 

Pain flared and he fought not to retreat, surging forward again. He heard the door open behind him and attempted to keep his focus on Ghadeon as the other man retreated and feinted right. Roan stepped forwards to put himself out of Ghadeon’s ranged attacks, knowing the old man would struggle to change his tactics as the swords slipped against each other in passing, with Roan coming in close with a knife against Ghadeon’s throat.

 

Clarke, for her part, stood watching with wider eyes than she meant to, admittedly impressed. As always.

 

_It is always amazing to see him fighting, he was a natural – graceful and brutish all at once._

 

The giant that Roan was currently engaged with stopped at once, and Roan turned his head to glance at her over his shoulder. His eyes lowered to the ground and he jerked his head to the other man, who stepped out. He moved by Clarke much more quietly and quickly than she would have thought possible. All that remained between them was the sound of Roan’s heavy breathing.

 

He hefted his sword a few times and turned to face her. His shirt was dark with sweat from exertion, and the exposed skin of his arms and neck, collar bones gleamed.

 

“I trust your chancellor shed some light on the situation.”

 

Clarke shrugged a bit, still processing all the news Kane had given her.

 

_Her mother was alive. They were alright. People were well fed, everyone had a meaningful employ that, even if it wasn’t a great job, it was better than death, and certainly no one was being abused. Vedunne’s little rebellion hadn’t spread, and while yes, some of Azgeda’s men were rowdy and boisterous, it was just that: youthful competition and showing their asses._

 

She watched Roan carefully, observing his breathing: labored from exercise but not out of the normal range. His veins were bulging and he was moving, stretching, working out sore and tender bits. She could see the start of an angry scar on his chest, and she felt shame remembering how he had gotten it. It was still red and fierce looking.

 

He came to stop less than an arm’s reach from her, his eyes watching hers and his breath evening out.

 

“I don’t have a chancellor anymore, remember?”

 

He grunted in mock approval. He was surprised by the lightest of touches, feather soft and hesitant against his collar bone, tracing down his left pectoral. He intended to push her, to make her understand why Vedunne couldn’t be humored, why Wanheda had to step up.

 

_He had never intended to let her keep her power, but he realized that he couldn’t stop her, couldn’t stop himself from falling under her spell after all. And then she had given herself to his will and killed Indra. And he had been so angry with her for what her people had done… Forcing his hand._

His heart thudded in his chest like a brick, and he waited to see what she would do now.

 

Her breath stuttered out and he resisted the urge to touch her back. Would she run away like the little rabbit she was?

 

_Dangerous rabbit._

 

“Pick up a sword.”

 

It was a fact: blood lust was kin to the old-fashioned variety, and a fair substitute.

 

Clarke recoiled as if struck though, and he walked away before he could react to that. He swung his sword a few times, testing his arm again. Glancing back at her discreetly, he watched her looking at the swords, her lips parting in that unconscious way they did when she considered her options. When she was alarmed and unsure of herself. She was younger than him, and he often forgot how she was untested compared to him.

 

“I don’t want to fight you.”

 

“Pick up a sword. I’m going to teach you something.”

 

He wasn’t threatening her, but she took a step back, looking from him to the rack again, and then to the door behind herself. If she tried to run, what would he do?

 

_The leopards chased down the rabbits, grabbed them by the neck with their teeth and snapped them in two, limp halves. Then they ate them._

 

“I’m not sure how sword fighting relates to anything that’s going on right now.”

 

Roan spun and came for her before she could say anything else, and she ducked sideways, running for the rack and grabbing the first thing she could. She went for the opposite side of the mat as he came again. It was a halfhearted effort on his side, but in her mind it was all fight or flight.

 

“Azgeda children are taught to fight from day one. They have to survive the ugliest landscapes, the cruelest world. They have to kill or be killed.”

 

Roan dove again, not really aiming for her. Instead of fighting back, she opted to run. He couldn’t stop the predatory grin splitting his lips as he herded her away from the door. She turned unexpectedly and threw her sword up at him, with a weak grip and loose stance ready to run again, not prepared to parry let alone attack.

 

_Ironic that she had a name like Wanheda and yet she wouldn’t fight back, wouldn’t try to hurt the man who had taken so very much for her. Did Kane tell her that he had chosen her mother, not because of her expertise but because he knew that she needed a mother still?_

 

“For one so worthless with a blade - ”

 

He swung hard and knocked her sword away, and she gasped before cringing away from th blow that never came. Instead he slid in close to her and grabbed her by her collar. He realized she was wearing different clothes than her normal preferences.

 

“You certainly have learned lessons enough to survive this world as well. Do you know what the difference is between you or Vedunne, and an Azgeda warrior?”

 

He dropped his sword and pulled her by the collar with both hands, giving her a light shake to get her out of the stupor she seemed to be in.

 

“No!”

 

She shoved back at him and he released her, picking up his sword and circling her and waiting for her to steady again. He wouldn’t dive until she dove first now.

 

“The difference, Wanheda, is that we must do the things that you may choose whether or not to do.”

 

She was angry, her hands balled up in fists at her sides, her nostrils flaring, blue eyes fuming.

 

“So your people are just born and bred bullies and animals?”

 

He laughed at her comparison, but it wasn’t too far off the mark.

 

“Clarke! Cruel words!”

 

She came swiftly, hand raised to land a blow on his cheek, and he allowed it. The force of it was enough to jar him, but he didn’t budge an inch, preferring to see the shocked expression the minute it took hold of her gorgeous face. Once it did, he stood up straight and smirked at her.

 

“Pick up the sword.”

 

“What, you have something else to teach me?!”

 

He chuckled lowly, and watched as she slowly stepped backwards and sideways, crouching, reaching for the sword she had dropped. She was learning fast.

 

“What do you want, Roan?”

 

Once the sword was in hand, he raised his own and pointed it at her face. She stood slowly, her own sword coming to match his own in position. Her feet were still not correct, too wide to support a forward movement or to even defend her current position.

 

“Your feet are too wide apart and your knees should follow the line of your toes.”

 

She looked down and shifted some, still not ideal but better.

 

He moved, and her blade met his more successfully this time. If he pushed with his full force, she would collapse beneath him. He was torn between doing so or not, but when he looked into her eyes again, he decided to go ahead and knock Wanheda on her ass.

 

She grunted when she landed, her sword falling again, and he leveled his sword at her face once more.

 

“There is a difference in words, and actions. That is what I wanted to teach you. Also, next time, be more concerned with getting your enemy before he gets you.”

 

He turned and deposited his sword in the rack, lesson done. He did not expect for her to come for him. She left the sword where it was, but she landed on his back with her fists and  knees, a low growl coming from her as she struck at him in a frenzy. He spun and they both landed on the ground, her a storm of fists and feet, him grasping for her hands and trying to situate his body weight so as not to crush her, but to immobilize the tiny woman before she hurt herself.

 

It was a strain to remain still once he finally got her, her chest heaving against his and her body finally calming –

 

“If you keep bucking against me, I can’t promise… anything.”

 

He wasn’t sure he was ready to share anything else with her, but he was sure if she kept on, he wouldn’t be able to help it. Her lips were dark, parted as she breathed raggedly. Her hairline was just starting to get damp and she gnashed her teeth at him. She was taking his last instructions to heart, evidently.

 

“I just found out my Mother is alive. I’m one of the lucky ones… your men are a bunch of pricks, and these are orphaned kids and girls missing their friends – their lovers – we are talking about. They just want to survive, and you don’t seem to understand the meaning of _words_ that are slung around like they’re nothing! Maybe they aren’t being attacked, but they are being stripped of who they are and every defense they had!”

 

She bucked against him again but the fire that had been lit in his belly was growing cold with her words. He squeezed her wrists and tried to hang on.

 

“We gave up who we were. The least anyone else can do is give up something too.”

 

Her eyes were damp and he shoved away from her, releasing her and looking at the door he was certain she’d head for now that she was free. He heard her slow shifting as she stood behind him, and when she was silent he turned back to face her.

 

“Am I dismissed?”

 

She sounded defeated and he tried to deny to himself that it felt like more of a blow than her smack had.

 

“Yeah.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday was my birthday, so here's a present for you guys!

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note: this is my first fan fiction and I claim no ownership of any of the characters, and limited ownership of the ideas that guide this fiction. I must give credit to The 100 wiki for the basic and horrid Trigedasleng I tried to use in this work, and of course credit to Kass Morgan for writing the original series (which I have not read) and of course, the writers of the TV show (which I have seen). 
> 
> This is unbeta’d, and I welcome any critiques – and offers to beta, as well! 
> 
> This picks up right around 4.10, but before they issue the Conclave – going to fix the things that need fixing!


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